Conventional crime story about a straight-arrow, clean-shaven, uniformed cop who gets bent, not broken, as a lightly bearded, Versace-attired undercover narc. It is filled with facile plotting and precipitous character development. It drips with glib cynicism about the Feds' commitment to the War On Drugs. It holds down the "emergent" Black American Cinema in the thematic ghetto of shootouts and car chases. And it's also the nearest thing in some long while to vintage Sam Fuller: that pugnacious way of wading in and leading with the chin, throwing haymakers from the opening bell, attacking social issues as though they were bob-and-weave "cuties." The director, Bill Duke, in only his second movie, establishes himself as -- more than the cultural documenter he established himself as in A Rage in Harlem -- a raw and intuitive stylist, in a style that might be classified as comic-book Expressionism. With Larry Fishburne and Jeff Goldblum. (1992) — Duncan Shepherd
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